


Hot As Hell (One-Shot)

by LeafyGreenQueen773



Series: Starker Week 2018 [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Hurt Peter Parker, Interns & Internships, M/M, Peter Parker is 18, Precious Peter Parker, Road Trips, Starker, Starker Week 2018, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Virgin Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 04:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15235146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafyGreenQueen773/pseuds/LeafyGreenQueen773
Summary: AU (no powers) Starker fic where Peter is an eighteen-year-old intern for Stark Industries CEO, Tony Stark.  Unfortunately, Mr. Stark has made the misguided decision to take Peter on a six-hour road trip to a convention upstate in an incognito junker car with no air conditioning.  On the hottest day of the summer.Peter passes out, Tony is concerned, sexual tension is rampant.For Starker Week 2018 (Day 1).





	Hot As Hell (One-Shot)

It was freakishly hot outside.

How Mr. Stark could have billions of dollars and still insist that they take an incognito old Honda with no air conditioning or cruise control to a convention upstate in the middle of July, Peter would never know.  All he knew right now was that if he didn’t get some cold water and fresh,  _ moving _ air, he was going to pass out.

“I’m serious, Mr. Stark.”  His voice sounded faint in his own ears.

Peter could feel his boss’s worried eyes on him.  “I’m sorry, I know, this was stupid. The next town is just three miles, okay, kid?  We’ll find a place to stop and get you some water.”

They’d been driving for four hours with the sun beating down on them.  When Peter rolled down the window ( _ with a fucking manual crank, no less _ ), all he got was a blast of hot air that made his lips crack.  So they kept the windows closed, and Peter dried out his bottle of Dasani in the first forty-five minutes.

The interior of the car was spinning.

“I’m...I’m gonna…”  Peter wanted to warn Mr. Stark, wanted to  _ tell _ him  _ something _ …

The next thing he knew, he was opening his eyes to a crowd of people.  Something cool and wet was plastered to his forehead. Above him, sharp lights were rhythmically cut by ceiling fans, and the smell of frying bacon permeated the room.  The edge of a table looming in his vision told him he was half-lying in a booth at a restaurant or diner. Probably some local joint in the nearest small town.

“Kid.  Peter. You okay?”  Tony. Mr. Stark was somewhere above him.  A rough hand touched Peter’s cheek. “I need some more water, somebody!”

Peter had always been the scrawny kid, short, with the body of a dancer or a gymnast.  Now that he was eighteen, and almost graduating, things still hadn’t changed. He was still prone to shit like this -- passing out when nobody else did, barely staying alive in the brutal winters and nearly shriveling up in the boiling summers.  Tony probably hadn’t realized Peter had such a weak constitution when he offered to drive Peter up to the convention near the Canadian border. He’d probably thought that his teenage intern could take it -- after all, Peter was  _ young _ , and vibrant, right?

Shame flooded into Peter’s cheeks.  God, he’d derailed everything.

“‘M sorry, Mr. Stark,” he slurred, his mouth barely working, like it was just waking up, too.

“Don’t apologize, don’t apologize.  This is my fault.” Suddenly, there was a plastic straw in front of his face.  Peter tried to sit up slightly to drink, and his hand suddenly found denim. Not just any denim -- the denim of Mr. Stark’s jeans.  

Suddenly he realized where Mr. Stark’s voice had been coming from.  His boss had been sitting in the booth with him, and Peter’s head had been resting --  _ god _ \-- right on Mr. Stark’s lap.

Peter felt more color bloom into his face as he determinedly took the straw in his mouth and pulled in swallow after swallow of ice-cold water.  He didn’t even know if it tasted good, but it burned his throat in the best way.

“Hey.”  A hand was on the wet cloth on Peter’s forehead.  “Slow down a little.” Peter obediently released the straw from his mouth and caught his breath.  Why was he panting?

A waitress dressed in a maroon apron pushed through the crowd of people.  Peter realized that most of them looked like they’d been out in the sun all day, too.  A few guys were dirty, wearing overalls. They were probably near some farming community.

“Hey hon, I found you a granola bar,” the waitress said slowly, and held it up to Peter.  He had no appetite and no desire to crunch down on what promised to be a dry, throat-scrubbing snack.  Still, he nodded and took it, holding it awkwardly like he had forgotten how to eat. The waitress looked at him with a concerned expression and then glanced up at Mr. Stark, who was positioned behind Peter, meaning that Peter couldn’t see his mentor’s face at all.  “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Yes, we just need a place to crash.  I think we better wait until it cools down in the evening to keep going.”  God, Peter could feel Tony’s breath on the back of his neck when he spoke. Combined with the sensation of cool water sitting in his stomach and the sweat and water dripping down Peter’s face, the breath made every hair stand on end.  Peter shivered.

“There’s a motel just across the street.  We’ll get you checked in with Barney and you can stay there for a few hours.”

An arm was on the small of Peter’s back, helping him sit up.  The damp cloth fell from his face and into his lap. “Thank you.  You all have been very kind.”

“No problem, mister,” somebody said.  Nobody even seemed to recognize that they were talking to Tony Stark, the CEO of Stark Industries.

People probably thought Peter was his son.  The thought twisted Peter’s stomach in weird ways.

~~~~~

 

By the time they got across the sweltering street, with Tony practically carrying Peter under one arm, got the keys to the motel room, and unlocked the door, Peter was dizzy again and feeling weak.

“You still with me, kid?”  Tony always sounded like he was keeping his cool, but Peter could hear the anxiety in his voice.  Maybe there was guilt there, too.

“Barely,” Peter answered honestly.  They stumbled into the room, which was decked out with brown paneling and an orange carpet that made Peter’s head swim.  Before Peter could even understand what was happening, he felt hands under the hem of his sweaty T-shirt, and suddenly he was naked from the waist up.

“You probably have heat exhaustion,” Mr. Stark was saying.  “Weakness, dizziness, loss of consciousness...water depletion.  We need to get you into a cool bath. And here.” A sweating, cold bottle of water was being pressed into his shaking hands.  “Drink. Seriously, drink it all.”

The backs of Peter’s legs hit the edge of a bed and he practically melted onto it.  His hands fumbled around to loosen the cap of the water bottle, but he could feel himself slowly falling back again, threatening to pass out once more.  “Mr. Stark, I…”

“Shit, shit, stay with me, Peter.”  There was the sound of a zipper, and something tugged at his waist.  His shoes came off, and his socks.

Then there was a rush of being sat up.  He tried to get his feet under him, but he couldn’t seem to find the floor.  Was Mr. Stark carrying him?

An echoing sound of running water started somewhere, and then…

Cool rain fell down his skin.  Down  _ all _ of his skin.

Peter opened his eyes once more.  Now he was staring at a shower head, which was spraying him with the best water he’d ever felt in his life.

“Is this helping at all?”

Peter whipped his head around so fast that his drenched curls splattered the room with water.  Mr. Stark was standing there next to him. Close to him, just outside of the shower. He was supporting Peter’s arm, part of his band T-shirt getting wet.  And Peter -- Peter was completely naked.

“Holy shit,” Peter breathed.  He knew his eyes were wide, knew that a blush would be rushing up his body.   _ Please don’t let me get hard. _  Luckily it seemed like his body was still too preoccupied with the heat exhaustion to put any focus on his groin.

“Sorry, I know, I should have asked.  But I needed to get you in the shower.  You had practically sweat through your clothes.”  Tony looked sincerely apologetic, but without any regret.  “You’re doing great. You’re doing perfect.”

Peter looked away.  He had to look away.  He had to look anywhere but at Mr. Stark’s lips saying, “You’re doing perfect.”  

His body was slowly cooling down, but only on the outside.

  
  


~~~~~

 

Peter slept through the hottest part of the afternoon and straight through until evening.  Mr. Stark had turned up the air conditioning as high as it would go, and the clanky old unit had managed to bring the room down to a livable temperature.  By the time Peter woke up, it was getting dark outside, and the sheet that Peter was sleeping under had worked its way down to his waist. Mr. Stark wasn’t in the room.

It was a small mercy, because under the sheet, he was hard as hell.

“This day couldn’t get any worse,” Peter muttered as he gingerly sat up and scanned the room for his clothes.  They, like Mr. Stark, where nowhere to be found. Fuck, his head was pounding.

The last thing Peter felt like doing was jacking off, especially with the way his body felt distinctly weak, but his erection was aching, too.  He pressed a hand down on top of it, as if he could force it away. 

A shadow passed in front of the window, and Peter had exactly two seconds to pull the comforter over his lap before Mr. Stark was opening the door to the motel room, Peter’s clothes bundled under one arm and a McDonald’s bag in his other hand.

The second Mr. Stark saw Peter was awake, the man seemed relieved as hell.  “How do you feel?”

“Like I imagine a hangover is.”  Peter awkwardly shifted under the pile of comforter in his lap, his cock uncomfortable against the sheets.

Mr. Stark laughed.  “Then I don’t envy you, having experienced my fair share of hangovers.”  He stepped fully into the room and pushed the door shut with his back. “Sorry that I couldn’t find better food.  It’s a one-horse town, as they say.” Peter’s clothes were tossed in his direction. “I hung those out to dry.”

Peter waited for Mr. Stark to leave the room again, or at least turn around, but his boss seemed to be oblivious.  The billionaire was reaching into the McDonald’s bag and laying out enough food to feed six Peters on the other full-size bed.

There was no way he was getting dressed with Mr. Stark in the room.  Not while he was maintaining a raging boner. Peter cleared his throat.

“Could...could you…?”  Mr. Stark looked up and saw Peter gesture generally toward the door, looking sheepish.

“Oh.  Yeah, of course.”

When Peter pulled his boxers, jeans, and T-shirt back on, and willed his erection to go down at least a little, he pulled open the motel door to signal to Tony that it was okay to come back in.  Mr. Stark was leaning against a support pillar out front, looking every bit the cool billionaire that he was. Peter swallowed. “I suppose we should eat and head out again, right? I don’t want to make you late for the convention in the morning.”

Mr. Stark smiled.  “Look, I don’t care when I get there, as long as I get you there in one piece.”  All the same, they went back into the motel room, sat on the bed, and quietly ate, Peter relishing in the saltiness of the French fries.  He mostly stared at the food in his hands, but he could feel Mr. Stark’s eyes on him.

Why had he agreed to go on this trip, again?

_ Because you secretly have a crush on your boss. _

Peter forced down a swallow of burger that was far too big and chased it with half a bottle of water.  His face felt hot again.

 

~~~~~

 

They had about two more hours to go before they’d arrive at the hotel near the border, but somehow time seemed to go a lot faster now that it was nighttime and the heat was far more bearable.  Peter cracked the window and let the warm breeze shift through his hair. Mr. Stark played music that Peter would never have pictured the older man listening to -- stuff that was relevant and recent.  When “broken” by lovelytheband came on, Peter couldn’t help but drum his fingers on the center console.

“You like this stuff, huh?” Mr. Stark mused, looking over at Peter.

Peter smiled and looked out the window at the corn fields flying past.  “I know it’s poppy and whatever. But I like how music makes me feel, and this song makes that...you know that feeling where it’s like your chest is expanding and you don’t know why but you love it?  It’s like that.”

Mr. Stark didn’t say anything.  For a second, Peter wondered if he’d said something wrong, when suddenly Tony hit the brakes and Peter’s whole body pressed forward against his seatbelt.

“Sorry.”  Mr. Stark was already unclicking his own seatbelt.  “I just wanted to do something really quick. Get out.”

Peter searched around in the dark for a moment before finding the seatbelt release, then swung open his door and stepped out onto the grassy side of the road.  The sound of corn swaying in the breeze and the crickets chirping was almost deafening, and yet it was quiet.

Tony was leaning back against the hood of the car.  Peter tentatively propped himself up against the grill and leaned back to join him.  The hood was almost uncomfortably warm, but he rested his head back anyway and looked up, following Tony’s gaze.

Oh shit.  

He had never seen so many stars.

“Woah.”  Peter stared up into the glistening sky.  He knew that there was an uncountable number of stars out there, but he’d never really thought about it until now.  Back in Queens, he was lucky to see even the brightest constellations. Here, he could see every single pattern. The Milky Way was a jet of light across the inky blackness behind it.

“Makes you think, doesn’t it?”

“Makes me feel small.  Insignificant.”

Peter could hear Tony shift, could sense the man looking over at him, but he didn’t return the gaze.

“You’re not insignificant.”

Peter folded his arms across his chest.  “You’re having me look at all this and still maintaining that I’m important in the grand scheme of things?  Look up there, and look at me.”

“I’m looking at you.”

The breath seemed to catch in Peter’s throat.  Slowly, Peter turned his head to meet Tony’s gaze.

Every star was reflected in the corners of the man’s eyes.  “You’re more important than every star out there, Peter. You’re not insignificant.”

Thank God for the darkness outside.  Peter hoped that Mr. Stark couldn’t see the blush that was rushing into his neck and cheeks.  “Well, you know, not to people I know, I guess. Not to Aunt May or my friends or you, maybe.”

“Especially not to me.”

Peter ran out of things to say.  His breath shivered through his chest.  “M-Mr. Stark…”

Tony’s eyes fluttered nearly shut, and the man gave the smallest of head shakes.  A calloused finger was suddenly on Peter’s lips.

Before he could stop himself, Peter let his tongue touch the pad of the finger.  Just for a moment. He was painfully hard against his jeans zipper.

And then, it was like something snapped, and Mr. Stark had rolled up and over him, straddling Peter’s legs as they dangled off the front of the car, and…  Mr. Stark’s lips were on Peter’s.

Peter made a weak sound and pressed his hips up against the front of the billionaire’s jeans.   _ Holy shit, Mr. Stark is hard. _

Tony groaned against Peter and the pressure against the front of Peter’s pants was returned with more force.  A mix of pleasure and discomfort surged into Peter’s pelvis as his jeans rubbed against his erection.

Then, just as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

Mr. Stark pushed away from the hood of the car -- away from Peter -- and took several steps back.  His eyes were dark, and his expression was nearly unreadable in the dark. Only the rapid rising and falling of his shoulders gave anything away.

“I’m sorry, that was -- that was wildly inappropriate.”  One calloused hand came up and wiped the taste of Peter off the billionaire’s lips.  The man stared at his hand, as if he didn’t want to wash it. “Peter, I’m so sorry.”

Disappointment crashed into Peter’s chest.  “I’m not,” he said quickly.

“What?”

“I’m not sorry.  I’m not sorry you kissed me.”

“But -- ”

“I want you to do it again.”

Tony gaped at him.  His right arm held his left wrist hard, something Peter had come to recognize as a sign of stress due to an old injury the man had received.  Peter sat up against the hood of the car. “Please, Mr. Stark.”

“Peter, you can’t be serious -- ”

“Actually I am.  I’ve had a shit day and you’ve seen me in a really vulnerable state and I’ve liked you for a long time and -- ” Peter grimaced and reached down the front of his jeans to adjust his erection.  “-- and I’m  _ hard _ , Mr. Stark.”

Tony was still holding his left wrist.

“Please,” Peter added.  He hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted this until now, until this very moment.  “Please, just this once.”

Tony’s hands fell to his sides.  “Fuck.”

In two strides, the man was on him again.

Mr. Stark tasted like salt and something sweet, and the skin just around his lips had the taste of sweat.  Peter let Tony pull Peter closer into the kiss -- and the kiss was wonderful and incredible and was lighting up his brain in all the right ways -- but he wanted friction.  Peter dug his heel into the grill of the car and thrust up against Mr. Stark’s hips. The man bucked at the contact, then melted down on top of Peter and pressed Peter’s whole body into the car.

As small as Peter was in stature, he didn’t feel overpowered by the billionaire draped over him.  Instead, he felt empowered. With one hand he gripped Tony’s shoulder; his legs were busy pushing his pelvis up against Mr. Stark’s as hard as he could.

Then Mr. Stark began to move.

It was slow and languid at first, and each dizzyingly long brush of friction to Peter’s cock through his jeans made him feel like he could lose his mind.  Then, three things happened that made Peter realize this wasn’t going to last long. Firstly, Mr. Stark’s hands found the hem of Peter’s T-shirt, and they were making their way up Peter’s sensitive torso; secondly, Mr. Stark increased the pace at which he was thrusting; thirdly, Mr. Stark breathed into Peter’s mouth those three words that seemed to get Peter the most: “You’re doing perfect.”

A startingly low groan escaped Peter’s chest.

“Yes, that’s it, Peter.”

“Mr. Stark, oh my god.”  The billionaire’s hands were dragging lines of fire up his chest.  Two fingers closed around one of his nipples, and a streak of electricity shot up his spine.  Peter arched into it. “ _ Oh _ my god.”

“You’re incredible.”  Fuck, did Mr. Stark really think all those things?  When did the pressure in his belly start coiling tight?  Peter closed his eyes against the thrusting friction of Mr. Stark’s erection against his own.

“Mr. Stark, I’m not going to...to last very long…”

Another set of fingers pinched tight over Peter’s other nipple, and it was like closing a circuit of pleasure between his chest and his groin.  He could feel his abdominal muscles tightening, along with his balls. “Fuck!”

“I want you to come, Peter.  I want to see you come. I’ve wanted to see you come for longer than I care to admit.”

“Mr. Stark, really, I’m...I’m fucking close.”  Peter’s hands fisted in Mr. Stark’s T-shirt. Another thrust lit up his pelvis.  He was so done.

“Yes.  You’re perfect.  Come on, Peter.”

The grips on his nipples both sharpened for a split-second, timed perfectly with a hard thrust against his pants, and then Peter felt the coil of pleasure break open into waves.  His muscles spasmed as his cock throbbed in his jeans. Warm fluid spilled against his lower belly under his waistband.

The thing Peter wanted to remember the most, though, was that the instant Peter’s mouth fell open in pleasure as his orgasm hit, Mr. Stark’s lips claimed him once more, swallowing every moan that pulsed its way out of Peter’s body.

For a moment, Peter could have been anywhere.  They could have been on a bed in a palace. They could have been on a cot in a cabin.  They could have been at the pearly gates, fucking in front of St. Peter.

When he opened his eyes and remembered that there was a warm breeze ruffling his hair, and corn waving in the dark fields, and a hard car hood under his back, it didn’t feel any different from any of the other options.  It felt right.

“Feel better?” Mr. Stark panted into Peter’s shoulder.  The bemused tone didn’t escape Peter.

“I feel a lot of things.  Better is probably one. The other is a lot of jizz in my boxers.”

The chuckle that came out of the billionaire made Peter feel warm in an entirely different way.

“Sorry about that.”

“Did you even finish, Mr. Stark?”

Tony pushed himself up onto one elbow and smiled at Peter.  Stars dotted around his head like an infinite halo. “No, but the way you came was epic enough for the both of us.”

“Can’t you let me...I don’t know...suck you off, or something?”

Mr. Stark closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, Peter could swear the pupils were even more blown.  “As much as that sounds incredible, I’m going to have to decline. We’re still on the side of a road in the middle of Nowhere, New York.”

_ That’s fair, _ Peter thought to himself, even as disappointment settled back into his chest again.  Mr. Stark straightened up and offered his hand to Peter, then pulled the kid off the hood of the car and gestured toward the interior.

Peter gingerly sat down and buckled up, horribly aware of the dampness in the front of his jeans.

“We’ll get you cleaned up when we get to the hotel.”

Under the discomfort, Peter felt a flair of warmth again.  “ _ We’ll _ get me cleaned up?”

Tony swallowed audibly.  “You’re right. You said once, and that was once.”

Peter drummed his fingers on the center console again.  “I’m thinking I might extend that to twice. Or several dozen times.”

It was obvious that Mr. Stark wanted to argue, to say how inappropriate it would be, but words seemed to be failing him.  Peter was glad.

“Mr. Stark?”

“Yeah.”

“Next time you put me in the shower, you better get in it with me.”

A grin split Tony Stark’s face.  Peter couldn’t help but laugh as his boss turned the key in the ignition.  It was going to be a good road trip after all.


End file.
